“I craved only the most compelling pleasures then, a wanton tongue
crushed against mine, char-broiled meat, my brush’s wet scrape across
a sheet of handmade paper, a transparent water glass riven gold by a
lamp’s muted sheen. I had escaped alcohol’s leathery grasp and
vanquished the chattering devils who’d been hissing in my ears for two
decades. But like an infant, I couldn’t filter the torrent of
sensations bombarding me. I shunned what I wanted most, as though I
might crash through the skylight of my own desires.”